


what's out there

by theamazingbard



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Witcher!Jaskier, no beta we die a shitless death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard
Summary: Geralt can’t help but wonder who would follow a Witcher into the woods. The off-beaten path isn’t safe for anyone.Dwelling on who it is won’t do much good. Not when knows he has to prepare himself for an attack.He sets up camp in a clearing. Still no definitive sign of his pursuer.Until he just… swaggers into Geralt’s camp.A Witcher.A young Witcher.(an interconnected series of drabbles)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 164
Kudos: 707
Collections: Best Geralt





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this series is already complete! will post every day/every other day. 
> 
> special thanks to ewanspotter for being an enabler/cheerleader

Geralt knows he’s being followed. Has known it for a while.

The person following him is a professional, clearly knows what they’re doing. Quiet steps, careful to avoid any twigs or loose rocks. Their scent is hidden well enough. When Geralt turns to look behind him (carefully, subtly,) there’s no one to be seen.

But there’s a distinct feeling that comes with being followed. Something that Geralt has become intimately familiar with over the years. The dance between predator and prey.

Geralt can’t help but wonder who would follow a Witcher into the woods. The off-beaten path isn’t safe for anyone.

Dwelling on who it is won’t do much good. Not when knows he has to prepare himself for an attack. Thinks he may be able to catch his opponent off guard if he doesn’t make it obvious that he knows he’s being followed. He can plan a bit. If he’s lucky, he may be even able to pick where he fights.

Night falls. He sets up camp in a clearing. Roach is tired.

Still no definitive sign of his pursuer.

Until he just… swaggers into Geralt’s camp.

A Witcher.

A _young_ Witcher.

There’s an ease in his movements and a grin to match. The armor is flashy, colorful. Ridiculous. A cat medallion hangs from his neck. Twin swords peak out over his shoulder, and there are a few knives strapped to his thighs. He doesn’t reach for his weapons, so Geralt does not reach for his own.

“So this is the Butcher of Blaviken!” He opens his arms in a dramatic fashion. “You don’t seem so… butchery.”

“Washed off the blood already.” Geralt replies drily.

The grins grows.

“Well then, Butcher. I have a gift for you,” The Cat steps closer. There’s no aggression or intent to attack in his movements, but Geralt lays a careful hand on the hilt of his sword all the same. “Easy, there. Just thought I’d pass this along!” Slowly, he reaches inside his shirt (open, exposed, _amateur_ ) and pulls out a bit of parchment.

Geralt looks down at the parchment, then back up to the Cat. He takes it, opens it, and frowns. A contract. On _his_ head. He sighs. Eventually, someone was going to try and kill him. His reputation along with his occupation make people uneasy. But he’s not sure what he’s done to piss off Temeria so badly. The striga, if he had to guess. “They hired you, then?”

“Who better to kill a Witcher than another Witcher?” It’s not uncommon for a Cat Witcher to take a contract on humans as well as monsters. Their mutations differ, if the stories are to be believed. Geralt has no idea what to make of this man.

“Why give me this?”

“I’ve heard stories about you,” He says, beginning to pick at his nails. “When taking contracts. Or trying to, only to find out that you’ve killed all the monsters in the surrounding area.” When he looks back, there’s a glint in his golden eyes. “Not quite as beastly as you were made out to be. And there’s already so few of us.”

“Hm,” Geralt stands. The Cat doesn’t tense, doesn’t reach for his knives, and doesn’t give any impression yet that he means to harm him. “They’ll know I’m not dead soon enough. Your brothers may come for me. Would you still be so willing to warn me knowing I might kill one of them?”

Surprisingly, this makes the Cat grin wider. “My _siblings_ ,” He corrects. “Are bastards.”

“Hm,” Geralt carefully folds the contract and tucks it away. “I’m not paying you.”

A laugh. “I’m not expecting you to! Except, perhaps, in a story or two. And in company, perhaps? I suspect my siblings won’t be too pleased that I rallied for the contract only to ignore it completely.”

“No.”

“To the story? Or the company?”

“Both.”

The Cat drops his bag and sits on a log nearby the fire Geralt had set up earlier. “I’ll just sit here then. And maybe talk for a bit. I did go through all the trouble of tracking you down, you see. I’m _tired_.”

Geralt frowns. It’s been a while since he’s met a Witcher from outside Kaer Morhen. He didn’t care to, either. Especially from School of the Cat. It’s a bad idea. He sits across from him anyway.

“‘m Jaskier, by the way. Since you asked.”

“I didn’t.”

The day started with Geralt being followed.

The following weeks are much the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tysm for the comments and kudos!!! they really help motivate me to keep going and to keep writing :)

In the middle of the night, Jaskier lurches awake. Geralt opens an eye. It’s never a good sign when there’s an uneasy Witcher.

Jaskier grabs one of his knives- always close by- and stands slowly. His gold eyes sweep the surrounding area. Though the Cat prefers sleeping in Inns, they have taken to sleeping outside recently. (Villages are often disquieted at the sight of one Witcher. Two? The horrors.)

Geralt reaches for his own swords, his hand hovering between the silver and the steel. He can’t smell, see, or hear anything that would indicate definitively tell him which one was best for the occasion. But he remains silent. Jaskier, deadly attune to seeing the unseen, remains poised for a fight.

Out of the shadows steps _another_ Witcher.

A _young_ Witcher.

A _young woman_ Witcher.

Blonde hair falls over one eye, and there’s a knife in each hand. The armor, while flashy, is not at all as loud as Jaskier’s. From her neck hangs a Cat medallion.

Steel, then. Geralt stands next to Jaskier, sword in hand. He looks from one Cat to the other.

“Jaskier. What the _fuck_.” She demands. “You were supposed to kill the Wolf, not make friends!”

“Little Eye. You always were the best tracker. I’m not at all surprised you found me first!” Jaskier does not stow his own weapon. “You should know I kill whom I want, when I want. Even if the money was very, very good.”

Jaskier’s sister- Little Eye?- bares her teeth and grips the hilts of her knives tighter.

They stand like that for a long, tense moment. Geralt suddenly can’t help but wonder: would Jaskier choose his sister over him?

Finally, she sighs. “I should have know you wouldn’t, you tenderhearted fool,” There’s only the slightest bit of hesitation when she sheathes her knives. Jaskier lowers his as well. Geralt does not. “Fascinated with him from afar, now stuck to his side like shit on a boot.”

At that, Geralt can’t help but raise a brow. He turns to look at Jaskier. Fascinated?

To which Jaskier shrugs easily. “He’s not so different from us, Essi, and you know that. You _do_.”

“I do,” Essi agrees. “But our siblings don’t care. A contract is a contract. Even if it’s another Witcher. They-” She sighs once more, shaking her head. “Jaskier, you shouldn’t come back to Dyn Marv this year.”

Geralt hears the skip of Jaskier’s slow beating heart, but his expression betrays nothing. As always, a smile graces his features. “I assume by this year, you mean never.”

Essi doesn’t reply. Her gaze lowers to the forest floor. Impressive to see how precise these Cat Witchers are. To cut so deep without the use of their knives or swords. But then, Geralt has known how dangerous words could be.

“Thought as much!” Jaskier says. “Good to have heard the message, though. Can you imagine how awkward it might be if I wintered there this year?”

Geralt imagines blood would be spilled.

“Perhaps I can camp here tonight?” Essi offers. “We can share stories. For old time’s sake.”

“No.” Geralt says.

“Ah, he’s just saying that!” Jaskier brushes him off. “Of course we can swap stories. You should hear about this magnificent griffin I had to slay just a few months ago. Her feathers were _incredible_. I saved a few!”

The Witchers share a meal, and though the conversation between the Cats is amicable, it feels rather final. Realizing, perhaps for the first time, what Jaskier has sacrificed for him, he makes a point of telling his own stories. Not nearly as wordy, or embellished as theirs, but stories all the same.

When Essi gathers her things and walks down the road in the opposite direction at dawn, Jaskier watches her until she disappears. It’s a quiet thing.

Geralt doesn’t know what to say.

Unbidden, the image of the Cat alone during the winter comes to mind. It’s disturbing. Geralt hates that the thought causes distress. He owes him nothing. They are meant to walk the Path alone.

(Maybe-)

 _No_. Geralt will not invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen. Cats and Wolves do not get along. They aren’t even allowed in the keep.

He won’t.

“Time to get moving, eh, Wolf?” Jaskier says, turning around. Geralt is further disturbed that he is starting to understand the subtleties in the Cat’s expressions. Each smile so different. Few of them happy.

“Hm.”

They continue to travel side by side.

Alone, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @anxiousbard for more drabbles (including witcher!jask drabbles that won't make it on here) and other shenanigans. y'all are the best


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 y'all are the best thank you so much <3 <3

As abruptly as they began traveling together, the Cat and Wolf Witchers part ways as they near the border of Redania.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m sure,” Jaskier said as he walked backward down the path heading west. “But for now, I’ve business elsewhere. Do try not to have the best adventures without me! You’re shit at regaling the tales.” He waved, turned on his heel, and swaggered away.

Geralt rolls his eyes at the memory. What stories does he have to tell, really? Monsters are monsters. He kills them, then collects the coin. Nothing terribly exciting about that.

With winter nearing, he really only has time for one more contract. He thought that Jaskier would want to do finish the season together, as he hadn’t mentioned his plans for the coming months. However, he brought up nothing of the sort, only speaking of his own conquests that are surely embellished.

It’s not his problem. Jaskier is a Witcher and capable of making his own decisions. They all know what it takes to be on the Path. He can find his own place to winter.

Geralt continues not to think about it as he crosses the country.

As he approaches Lettenhove, he notices that people seem more wary, more hostile than he’s used to. It doesn’t matter. There are contracts plastered to the signboard just at the border. That's all there needs to be.

Even as he starts to inspect the contracts, people spit at him. Whisper curses as they pass. Thinly veiled threats to get out of Lettenhove. These people are in desperate need of a Witcher, and yet have probably driven off anyone from his guild willing to help. Whatever prejudice they hold, it runs deeper than fear.

Geralt takes the highest paying contract from the sitting viscount. A pack of alghouls running rampant in a small village not too far from the estate. Probably a nest.

Nasty work.

This better pay at least half as well as the contract promises.

He has to endure more jeering and insults as he nears the nest. Such is the life.

It doesn't take long to reach his destination. The village is downtrodden. Absent of human life. There are a few rotting corpses lining the streets, half devoured. The stench is foul, but it’s nothing that Geralt hasn’t dealt with before.

As the alghouls creep out of the otherwise empty homes, Geralt downs a vial of black blood. He hates black blood. But with the oncoming swarm, he’ll need the added help.

He unsheathes his sword and swings at the alghoul lunging at him. It rolls away and hisses.

This would have been much easier with two Witchers. The thought sits with him as he continues through the day, fighting 11 alghouls. It’s not so different from what he did before. Alone.

How did he allow himself to become so soft? To even consider a different outcome?

But the hours slide by slowly, and Geralt grows weary. Finds himself waiting for a wise-crack. A story to go along with each kill. Someone keeping score out loud (and cheating the entire time).

At the end, with his arms stinging from bites, with his sword covered in viscera, and with toxicity still coursing through his veins, he is victorious. Another contract fulfilled.

It shouldn’t feel different.

(It does.)

-

Geralt burns the bodies. Burns the alghouls. Blows up the nest. He needed to kill the time for the potion to wear off.

He really hates black blood.

But wear off it does and Geralt intends to collect what’s owed to him.

The walk to the Lettenhove estate is long and uncomfortable. He needs a bath. Perhaps that's why the residents spit at him so often. Still, best to ignore them.

(If he's learned anything from Blaviken, it's to leave well enough alone.)

The closer he gets to the estate, the more heavily armed people appear. Geralt does not reach for his blades yet. They already think him a threat. He's not going to give them a reason to attack.

To his surprise, the doors to the estate open without trouble. The guards eye him with open hostility, but say nothing. Geralt carries a sack, uncaring that thick blood drips from the bag and onto the fine rugs.

One guard jerks his head sharply towards the hall. Geralt follows. He’s lead to a large, comfortable looking chamber.

Sitting at a desk is a handsome man with familiar looking soft brown hair. He’s writing something down on a piece of parchment, but looks up as soon as Geralt is introduced. Bright blue eyes dim with what appears to be disappointment. Strange.

“ _You’re_ the Witcher?”

“I am.”

A sigh. The viscount stands. He’s tall and finely dressed. Something about his appearance niggles at him. Something he can’t place. “Thank you. I assume… it’s over?” He starts walking towards Geralt. There’s a faint smell of fear, but not overwhelmingly so.

Geralt lifts the bag. It drips again.

The viscount hums, grimaces at the sight. Then he heads back to his desk and grabs a sack of what appears to be coin. There’s no pomp and circumstance when he hands it over. It’s weighty. Geralt peers inside anyway and is surprised again to find that it is what was promised.

“Before… before you go-” It can never be easy, can it? “Are you at all familiar with the Witchers of Dyn Marv?”

Geralt frowns. Tilts his head.

“I must confess, I was hoping… it would be a Cat. I am grateful, for what you have done. Yet, I had someone in mind.”

“Send a letter.”

The viscount shakes his head. A small laugh escapes him. “I don’t think he’d read it. I’m not sure why I thought he’d come. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

It’s not his business. He’s completed the contract.

All he has to do is walk away.

(Think of Blaviken. Leave well enough alone.)

Fuck.

“What's the name of this Witcher?”

“I believe he’s called… J-Jaskier?”

Of course it is.

“I know of him.” He says slowly.

The viscount’s eyes widen. “You do?” Suddenly, all the composure and air of nobility seem to fade. There’s a spark in those blue, blue eyes. “What’s he like? Do you think you could tell him to come here? To meet with me?”

Geralt remembers the look of the villagers. Of everyone in Lettenhove. It’s one of the more unwelcoming places in Redania. “Why?”

“He…” The viscount looks down. “He’s my brother. I only ever saw him once. 20 years ago.”

Jaskier is younger than Geralt was ever led to believe. To have a brother… who looks no older than 30, to have any family left at all is unusual. Surprising still is that Jaskier never mentioned any of this. For one who talks so much about himself, he says so very little of substance.

The viscount continues. “He was in this very room. He…” The man takes in a long, shaky breath. “His knife was bloody. That was the first thing I saw. Then I saw my- our father. Dead. I couldn’t move. I thought he might kill me, too.”

Geralt can hear the viscount’s heart rate pick up. Can see him start to tremble. Geralt thinks he would have started to shake as well, if he were human. This does not sound like the Witcher he’s gotten to know over the past few months. Not at all.

“He walked up to me. Kneeled until I could see him at eye level. I remember his eyes. How they glowed in the near darkness. He asked for my name.” The viscount slowly walked back to his desk. He leaned against the edge, his gaze unfocused. “ Apologized that I had to see the dead body. That I had a father like him at all. Then he ruffled my hair, and left. Caused quite the scandal.”

“What good would talking to him do?”

“I don’t know,” The answer is soft. “I don’t know.”

Geralt eyes the viscount. Considers the story, his words. He too is unsure of what to do with the information given. Jaskier killed a man, killed his father, practically in front of a child. Cat Witchers are said to be more emotional. Psychotic, even.

Stories about Witchers, however, should be taken with a grain of salt. Geralt knows that better than most. Yet, he can’t help the feeling of impending betrayal. Jaskier owes him nothing. Has turned on his own siblings to save someone he has never met.

Who is Jaskier, formely of Lettenhove?

They will meet again, Geralt knows. It feels certain somehow. (Something like destiny.) When that happens, he can ask the Cat himself. He meets the viscounts eyes. “Should I see him again, I will say that you wish to see him.” He pauses. “But I make no promises.”

“Thank you.”

“Who should I say wants to see him? The viscount?”

“No.” He sounds so painfully earnest. “Tell him his brother Julian wants to see him. A-and that I hope he holds no further grudges against our family. I certainly don’t. Or. I try not to.”

Geralt hums. Nods. And leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i initially tagged this drabble as 'intrigue i hope'


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love u all <3 thank you for the comments and kudos <3 <3 <3

Spring comes after a long, dull winter. 

Geralt leaves Kaer Morhen ready to continue on the Path as he had been before. 

Alone. 

He does not plan to run into the Cat Witcher Jaskier again. Doesn’t head towards the unofficial border between Cat and Wolf territories. Neither does he return to one of their old haunts.

He finds Jaskier all the same. 

Geralt finds a tavern not too far from Creyden. Music is playing loudly. Obnoxiously. There’s a bard in the middle, prancing about like a fool. The crowd seems to enjoy it enough to not notice that a Witcher has entered the premises. That’s when he catches the familiar scent. There, hidden away, in the corner of a tavern sits Jaskier. His armor as bright as ever. 

It’s unclear whether or not the Cat has noticed his appearance, or if he’s willfully ignoring him. Like the crowd, Jaskier is focused on the bard. Perhaps more focused than the others. 

Jaskier’s mouthing the words along to the bawdy lyrics. His gaze, when Geralt follows it, lines up with the bard’s hands. Jaskier’s fingers are moving about in the air, following the movements the bard makes along the instrument’s strings almost identically. 

The Cat looks thinner, Geralt notes. Even under the bulk of his armor. 

He’s reminded that Jaskier was not invited back to the School of the Cat this year. However he spent the winter this year, it wasn’t plentiful. 

Geralt tries not to think about it. 

The song ends, and finally, Jaskier’s gaze shifts to him. His expression morphs from one of concentration to delight. Eyes wide and golden.

“Geralt!” 

He strides across the tavern and takes a seat across from the other Witcher. 

“It’s been too long. We must celebrate!” Jaskier flags down the barmaid and orders an ale for Geralt. He didn’t even ask. Why would he do that? “Tell me, did you go and do interesting things? I do believe I forbade you from doing so, but you never seem to listen.” 

Lettenhove comes to mind. Jaskier’s brother Julian as well. _You killed your father_ , he thinks, remembering the story Julian told him. But as he looks into those eyes, bright and happy, the thought doesn’t quite connect. Either Jaskier is very good at masking his psychosis, or there’s another story there. 

Geralt would need to get well and truly drink to even think about approaching someone else’s family drama. It’s not his business. And, truthfully, Jaskier might not be thankful to hear that Geralt is privy to such private information. 

Best to let sleeping dogs lie for now. 

“Killed a few Bruxae.” He says instead. 

“Ugh, it’s always so difficult to kill something so beautiful,” Jaskier says with a sigh. “You will have to tell me all about it. Go on. And do not spare the details. I’ll know!” 

Geralt snorts and shakes his head. But he begins to tell Jaskier about the vampires. 

The ale arrives. Again, Geralt finds himself eyeing Jaskier’s thinness. He orders stew for the both of them and ignores the questioning, confused look Jaskier shoots him. Before he can ask questions, Geralt asks for a story in return. It more than does the trick until the stew arrives. 

Jaskier eats without abandon, clearly voracious. Yet even though he dines like a man half starved, he talks through the entire meal. Mentions how he slayed a giant, convinced a stubborn troll to move locations, and even managed to sleep with a siren. 

Suddenly, it doesn’t feel as though it’s been months since they last conversed. 

-

It doesn’t even occur to Geralt that he could leave without Jaskier. And so they begin to travel together again. 

They head south. Geralt is determined this time to not grow soft. Hunting is far easier with two, true, but he still doesn’t know when Jaskier will leave his side. Better to stay ready. 

Jaskier doesn’t give any sign of wanting to leave any time soon, however. Together, they begin to develop a silent language when hunting. Knowing when to distract, fight, throw a sign. It’s fluid. Natural. Almost like fighting with one of his brothers. But not _quite_.

Geralt tries not to dwell on it. 

He also tries not to dwell on Julian. It’s been a few weeks since he’s reunited with Jaskier and he still hasn’t mentioned Lettenhove. The timing is never right. Perhaps he’s waited too long. 

Eventually, he will. He will talk to Jaskier. At the very least he should know his brother wants to see him. Doesn’t blame him for their father’s murder. 

Hm. Yes, eventually. 

Not now. 

Not yet. 

-

“Let’s go back East, shall we?” Jaskier says one day. His tone is casual, but Geralt can read between the lines. “I think there’s a village not too far. Maybe there’s a contract waiting for us?”

They’re getting closer to Cat territory. It wasn’t intentional, coming this far. Though now that they’re here, he wonders why Jaskier wouldn’t want to return back to more familiar lands. True, the distinction between Witcher hunting grounds is informal and the lines are blurred, but Witchers don’t often stray outside the borders. And rarely for this long. It’s been at least two months since they began to travel together again. 

But he relents. It does not bother him to have Jaskier by his side, o nland that is supposedly for him and his brothers alone. 

They turn down a different path. 

Jaskier is in one of his quieter moods, but he is by no means _silent_. He hums. Songs that he’s heard from taverns and bars and traveling bards. Some, Geralt thinks, are songs that he hasn’t heard from anywhere else before. Each time he does this, his fingers start to do that strange dance, hand aloft and poised as if holding something. Something that’s missing. Geralt doesn’t know what. 

Doesn’t think he should ask. 

If Jaskier wants something he’ll say so. He’s never been shy about complaining about their sleeping arrangements or the food that they eat. Or about Geralt’s sense of style. As if the color of his armor matters. 

He almost asks. 

Then he notices that it’s too quiet. 

Notices that Jaskier has gone tense as well, though he continues to hum and wiggle his fingers in the air. 

Jaskier will know better where the threat is, he knows. Has that scary pinpoint accuracy as to where a threat lurks. Probably due to the differing mutations. Geralt looks at the Cat, standing to his left. Jaskier answers the silent question by looking towards the wood, left hand side. 

They will attack Jaskier first, then. Geralt thinks about pulling him out of the way. That blasted bright armor does little to protect from stronger attacks, even if it does allow him to move around the battle field quickly. 

He does not have the time to make the decision. 

A knife is thrown through the air, missing Jaskier’s upheld hand by a hair. 

Jaskier pulls out his own knives and drops into a stance.

“Geralt, I’d like you to meet my brother,” He says through gritted teeth. “Petyr.” A Witcher, dressed in light armor appears from the shadowy forest. An ugly snarl upon his face. 

Steel, then. 

Geralt goes to unsheathe his sword, but feels himself being thrown backwards. Aard. Jaskier’s brother has insanely strong signs, it seems. As he gets up, he hears the ringing of steel meeting steel. 

He rushes forward and finds the world slowing around him. 

Frowning _,_ he looks down, and sees he’s stepped into an yrden trap. How and when did Petyr ever set that up? 

Petyr is fighting is a few inches shorter, but knows how to fight those bigger than him well. Wields dual knives, and slices through the air with intent to kill. 

A bastard, as Jaskier once said. 

“Traitor!” Petyr screeches. “Choosing a Wolf over your own!” 

Jaskier grabs Petyr’s wrist and disarms him. “Not killing a man is akin to treachery? Why, Petyr, it’s a wonder we never got along!” Jaskier then knees the other Cat in the chest, pushing him away by a few feet. “Don’t make me kill you.” 

Petyr grins. “Can’t believe someone like you survived the trials.” 

Jaskier’s grip around his knife tightens. He lunges at Petyr furiously. _Sloppy_ , Geralt thinks, the word panicked in his mind. Petyr has anticipated this, and dodges the blow, whirling out of the way. Then, he slashes his blade, the weapon making an arc before cutting through skin. The sick scent of copper pierces the air. Jaskier stumbles backwards, a hand pressed to his face.

It’s then that yrden finally releases, the shock lasting for only a moment. Petyr is distracted by the movement and reaches for his sword as Geralt moves forward with his own. Already having used two signs, Petyr will be unable to use a third so soon. Reckless, young Witchers _._

Geralt’s sword rings as it clashes with Petyr’s. 

“Think you can trust him?” Petyr sneers, pushing his sword with all his might. “He’ll betray you, too! Wa-” He lets out a choked noise. The tip of a knife has appeared in his throat. It disappears just as quickly. Blood rushes forth. Petyr drops his blade, lifts a shaky hand to his neck, and falls. 

Just behind where Petyr once stood is Jaskier, blood dripping down his face. He nods at Geralt, then looks down at the Cat Witcher, choking on his own blood.

Jaskier watches with cold eyes as his brother dies. 

-

After they take care of the body, they find a place to camp. 

Geralt sits Jaskier down on a log and takes a closer look at the wound on Jaskier’s face. The knife cut him from just above his left eyebrow, down across his nose, and ending about an inch under his right eye. Geralt silently reaches for a salve and begins to treat the skin as gently as he can.

“Makes me more of a Witcher than you,” Jaskier jokes. The humor doesn’t reach his eyes. “Having a scar on my face.” 

“Hm.” 

“Petyr was always jealous of how good looking I was,” A sigh. “Even now, I’m still better looking.” 

“You are,” Geralt says without thinking. He winces. If he wasn’t tending to Jaskier, he’d look away. Of course he’d get his fucking face sliced open, the one place Geralt has to make eye contact. “This won’t detract from your…” Words fail him. They always do. He groans.

“You think I’m good looking?” Jaskier grins. (Real, this time. Something happens in his eyes. A spark. That’s how Geralt can tell that it’s genuine.) “You think I’m handsome? Comely? Beautiful? Sexy, even?” 

“Whatever ends this conversation.” He leans back a little. It should heal nicely, he thinks. Still a scar, but perhaps not as prominent as it might have been were they not as quick to treat it. Geralt knows how to tend to a wound, knows what it should feel like, but still asks: “Feel okay?” 

The grin fades into something softer. “Yeah. Yes. Thank you, Geralt.” 

Geralt is still sitting pretty close. He should move over, give Jaskier some space. The man just lost a brother. 

Hm. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“Your brother-” 

Jaskier waves him off. “Petyr sucked. He was always such a bully. The world is better off, trust me.” 

Geralt shakes his head. 

“No. Not him. Julian.” 

Jaskier freezes. 

“There’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a cliffhanger whoops! but you won't have to wait longer than a day. some of you even fewer if you head over to my blog to read unedited versions of these drabbles lol. i see you impatient folks. (and i applaud you lol waiting sucks!!!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello

“You killed your father,” Geralt says. A statement more than an accusation. 

The Cat Witcher laughs. A darker sound than he’s used to. Ever since bringing up Lettenhove, Jaskier’s entire demeanor has changed. “Was I supposed to wait for someone else to kill the bastard?” 

Geralt has no room to judge. There is plenty of blood on his own hands. Mistakes he can never wash away. Hearing that Jaskier, a man who has literally stopped to smell the flowers, is much the same is jarring. “We’re not supposed to get involved. Leave everything in the past.” 

“How did you become a Witcher, Geralt? Were you a Child of Surprise? Did your father lose a bet? Or did your mother sell you? Perhaps you were abandoned altogether?” Jaskier’s golden eyes blaze with anger. “You Wolves think yourselves so detached from reality. From humanity. But I _remember_. I remember what it’s like to be _human_.” 

It’s been years since Geralt has been human. Decades. He has learned not to dwell on his life before becoming a Witcher. It’s something that Vesemir stressed all throughout their training. He’s seen what holding a grudge can do. How his own brother, Lambert, continues to struggle with his fate. 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“My _father_ ,” Jaskier spits the word out. “Gave me to the Witchers when I was 11. Nearly too old, wouldn’t you say? But I wasn’t obedient. Wouldn’t pay attention in classes. Disrespected him one too many times in front of his friends. So as soon as he heard my mother was pregnant, he gave me away.” Jaskier pulls a knife out. Twirls it in his hands. 

Still, Geralt doesn’t know what to say. How to make it better. 

“And you know what? I survived. No one thought I would. Not a one. Imagine that? Some scrawny noble child survived the trials. But I did. I made sure I’d survive. Suppose that makes me a petty little shit, but I did.” 

Geralt says nothing. Even if he were skilled with words, he’s unsure that there’s anything he could say to make this better. 

“After the trials I went back to Lettenhove. Just to show him, just to show him that I wasn’t so fucking useless after all. But he didn’t expect me to survive either. Isn’t that a laugh? And then he tells me about his son. His _real_ son.” Jaskier shakes his head. He swipes a hand at his eyes. Geralt looks down at the ground, pretending not to have seen. “D’you know Julian is a family name? Passed down from generation to generation. Kind of defeats the purpose of an identifier, I think. But it was still _my name._ ” Jaskier’s voice breaks.“He gave my name away. Erased me entirely.” 

For a long moment, the only sounds come from the forest. 

“He stole my life. So I took his. And I don’t regret it. Not one bit.” 

Geralt frowns. For a long time, he just sits there. Soaking in Jaskier’s story. He can’t say he agrees with Jaskier. But he can’t say that he blames him for his actions either. “You survived.” 

Jaskier’s gaze snaps up to meet his own. 

“You survived. You might… walk the Path. Your choice might have been taken from you. But you’re alive despite the odds. There are still things… _Fuck._ ” He sighs. What? Worth living for? There’s the Path. Monsters and coin. Beyond that, he’s not sure. 

Jaskier could have lived the comfortable life of a noble. No one would spit at him. He would be able to enjoy music all the time. Wear the fine clothes he sometimes admires when he thinks no one is looking. Geralt thinks that in another world, that would have suited him quite well. But who they are is torn down and rebuilt for a sole purpose. To walk the Path.

But maybe… maybe they can walk the Path on their own terms. That’s what they’re doing now, isn’t it? A Cat and a Wolf, fighting back to back. A small _fuck you_ to Destiny. If they can do that, perhaps there are more surprises left in store. More to life. 

How the _fuck_ can he convey all that? He grimaces and looks at Jaskier. 

Jaskier stares back. Then he laughs a little and shakes his head. “Don’t hurt yourself there, Witcher,” He says. “I think we’ve had enough torment for one day, eh?” 

What about Julian? He doesn’t ask. 

Geralt gave the information. That’s all he can do for now. 

They lay out their bedrolls in silence. 

Sleep does not come easy.

-

They continue on the Path. Seemingly, nothing changes. No mentions of Julian or Lettenhove. 

Instead, the Cat acts as if nothing has happened. Perhaps things have returned to a sort of normalcy. 

Jaskier talks about his more memorable kills. Geralt accuses him of embellishing at best and flat at lying at worst. 

In one town, they visit a brothel together. (Not _together._ Gods. Where is his head these days?) They share beds, meals, and one or two trade secrets. 

They kill a leshen, take down a few sirens, and on one occasion they slay an elemental. Contract after contract. It’s dangerous to feel unstoppable, yet here they are.

Once again, Geralt has let himself grow used to the company.

And so it ends.

In one town, a letter arrives for Jaskier. 

It’s from Julian. 

“How did he know to find you here?” Geralt asks as he starts to remove his armor. They’re staying in a small room at a local inn. Jaskier sitting on the bed in very soft, loose fitting clothing. 

“I sent him a letter weeks ago.” Jaskier replies. The tone of his voice is casual, but Geralt knows better by now. Knows what this means. Waits for his companion to continue. “Said I would meet him outside of Lettenhove or not at all.” 

Geralt frowns, tilts his head towards Jaskier. The Cat’s tongue is poking out in concentration. “You’re going?” 

Jaskier folds the letter in thirds and places it carefully on the nightstand. “I’m sure it’s a trap of some sort. But I did kind of kill his father. And you mentioned he seemed… earnest, you said?” Geralt shrugs. “Either way, I’ll meet with him. I leave in the morning.” 

Ah. So they are to part ways. Geralt looks away again. He understands well why Jaskier would want to do this alone. Some things in life are meant to be done that way. 

He does not think about how the idea of parting unsettles him. Of how Jaskier thinks he might be walking into a trap and will be without backup. He’s capable, even if he often lets his emotions get the better of him. 

As he lays to sleep next to the Cat that night, also does not think about how this may be the last time they see each other. 

-

At dawn, Jaskier babbles about his plans for his upcoming trip. Nothing of substance, of course. Just about the treats he’s been meaning to try again. 

“Geralt, the lemon cakes in this one small bakery are to die for. I mean that literally. You have to try them. I’d bring some back to you if I could. Do you think there’s a spell that could keep food fresher for a longer time? Ugh, the wonders that spell could do…” He trails off, looking towards the sky with a dreamy look. “Next time! I’ll take you. The people there owe me big time. Didn’t pay me HALF of what the contract was worth. They couldn’t afford it of course, so I demanded a lifetime supply of their baked goods…” 

Geralt snorts and shakes his head. It’s sad to say, but he can’t tell if this is another one of his tall tales. He’ll have to see for himself one day and travel to this small village. 

Until then, they reach the crossroads. 

“This is where we part, I’m afraid,” Jaskier says, all smiles. “Haven’t been to Redania in… woof. Twenty years. Has it really been two decades? Goodness, where does the time go!” 

Geralt honestly doesn’t know. It feels like a blur. Especially when he passes the time with Jaskier. 

“I’ll be seeing you around my friend.” Jaskier starts to turn away.

“Wait.” 

Jaskier stills, a look of confusion plain as day on his face.

Fuck. 

Geralt has no idea why he said that. He also has no idea why he’s stepping forward. Why he reaches around his neck and removes his medallion. Or why he takes Jaskier’s hand and places it in his hand. Fuck it. He’s come this far. Geralt takes Jaskier’s Cat medallion and puts it on, feeling the weight settle like an old friend against his chest. 

They are nearly identical medallions. They serve the same purpose. It shouldn’t feel different. But it does. 

He points to the medallion in Jaskier’s hand. 

“I want that back.” 

The smile that forms is small but genuine. There’s surprise and happiness. An expression far too tender for Geralt’s sensibilities. 

Jaskier’s golden eyes are brighter than he’s ever seen them. Slowly, the Cat puts the Wolf medallion round his neck. No other would know the difference. Would even know to look. But it feels different, seeing the mark of a Wolf on Jaskier. 

“I’ll keep it safe.” He vows. 

“See that you do.” 

Jaskier suddenly throws his arms around Geralt’s neck and hugs him tightly. Geralt flounders, unsure what to do with his arms for an embarrassingly long second, but hugs back after the momentary setback. And just… breathes him in. 

When they part, Geralt clutches at the medallion that hangs from his neck, feeling lighter than the last time they had to go their separate ways. 

This time, he’s made sure they’ll see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u might have noticed that this has an extra chapter added to it. i had what i called an interlude/companion piece written out a while ago about jaskier meeting julian. i wasn't sure if anyone would be interested, but a few people asked about them meeting? and the drabble is already written out? so yes. extra chapter. 
> 
> (there are two companion pieces. the other is significantly shorter and about geralt at kaer morhen during winter. lmk if that is something else y'all are interested in <3)
> 
> also thank you very much for the comments and kudos. i continue to be overwhelmed by the love and support. merry happy halloween the first <3


	6. Interlude the First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Jaskier has surveyed the area. He arrived two hours prior to their agreed meeting time. So far, he hasn’t found any traps. No guards, hired arms, or idiot thugs. 

But a Witcher can never be too careful. Especially a Witcher with a reputation.

Nervous would be an ill-fitting word to describe how he feels. Perhaps if he were a more learned man, he’d have the right one. He rubs his thumb against his pointer finger and watches the tavern from atop a hill. 

Non descriptive. Far enough away from Lettenhove that people are unlikely to recognize either of them. It’s possible Jaskier will even find a contract if he asks inside. 

If he isn’t killed in revenge, that is. 

He smiles when he sees someone in a cloak enter the tavern. Though it’s obviously meant to hide and conceal one’s identity, it does little to accomplish this for anyone smart enough to look. 

It’s a well made cloak, a wonderful color. The person wearing it walks with grace, though anxiety make his shoulders stiff. Jaskier can practically smell the fear from here. 

Julian Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove and his brother, has finally arrived. 

Jaskier decides that he’ll wait a few minutes. Let Julian get a bit more antsy before they finally meet face to face after twenty years. A bit cruel, maybe, but it was cruel for Julian to bring up old wounds in the first place. 

There’s a _reason_ Jaskier didn’t want to return to Redania. Well, more than one. People in Lettenhove are more likely to kill him on sight than in other shit-holes. But still! There are dramatic blood soaked reasons as well. Those that would be far more fun to recount in a tale. 

If he felt up to telling it, that is. 

He could leave, he thinks. Leave now. It wouldn’t be surprising for a Witcher to go back on their word. Especially one from the School of the Cat. At least, it wouldn’t be surprising to those who held such beliefs. 

Unfortunately, Julian seemed… almost excited to meet him. As if the last time they saw each other Jaskier wasn’t coated in their father’s blood. He has tried, on occasion, to imagine what it might look like to a child. 

A Witcher, smiling in the moonlight, a bloodied knife in hands. A dead parent next to him. That, Jaskier thinks, is the very portrait of a villain to a child.

He, however, feels no regrets and would kill the late Viscount of Lettenhove again if given the opportunity. 

If he's to mend this relationship, he might have to leave that bit out. 

With a sigh, Jaskier rises and makes his way towards the tavern. 

It’s more along the lines something he is used to than perhaps someone of noble birth. 

Jaskier narrows his eyes when he sees Julian in the corner. Like Jaskier, he has brown hair with a bit of a wave to it. Though the Viscount wears his longer. It falls to his chin. He also has a short, well maintained beard. Fine clothes. Darker than what Jaskier likes. His back is straight, there’s a nervous glint in his eyes, and he’s nursing an ale. If Jaskier weren’t meeting him today, Julian would probably be mugged. With a cursory glance around the room, he can already see two different people eyeing Julian with interest. 

Is that what he would have looked like? Young and stupid? Reckless?

Hard to say. 

The poor noble has waited long enough, Jaskier decides. So he strolls right up to him. 

The smell of fear, though faint, wafts off of Julian. “Jaskier?” He asks, blue eyes wide. 

Jaskier takes out a knife and brings it down on the table, piercing the wood. Julian jumps, his gaze lingering on the knife before he looks back up at Jaskier. Julian’s questioning gaze is answered with a smile full of teeth. “Julian.” He sits across from the man and props his feet on the table. 

Julian clears his throat. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

“Is it?” Jaskier asks. If he has to be here, he’s going to make this as difficult as possible. 

The noble fidgets. “I…” He sighs and shakes his head. “I just wanted to apologize for the pain that my family has caused you.” Jaskier zeros in on his hands. How his thumb rubs against his pointer finger. It takes more effort than he cares to admit to look away from the simple motion.

“You… what?” 

“I don’t know everything, of course. Very few people in the Lettenhove estate were willing to speak to me about…” Julian folds his hands on the table. He swallows. The fear is beginning to recede. “Well, about you. I think my- _our_ father forbade them to.” 

Jaskier snorts. “Of course he did.” 

“Well, it wasn’t right!” Julian’s eyes are bright. Jaskier thinks that they might have had the same eyes, once. A long time ago. “He was an alright politician. But he could have been better. And he wasn’t a good father, and I…” Julian’s cheeks bloom pink. “Well, I’d like to be better.” 

Now Jaskier is the one sitting up straight. “You-” 

Julian’s smile is a small thing. Shy. “My wife is with child, yes.” 

Jaskier has never wanted children. Not really. But here is another choice, another path his life could have taken, gone. A family member he will never meet. As a Witcher, he shouldn’t feel so… so much over a simple fact. Of course his line would continue without him. He’s not part of that world, and not part of that family. It still stings. Then again, he’s never felt how he should. “Congratulations.” Jaskier says. He’s not sure if he means it. 

It hardly matters. Julian is lost in his own world, smiling softly at a thought that’s taken him away from this place. Jaskier allows it. One of them should be able to take comfort in bright futures. Suddenly, Jaskier takes the knife still standing straight up and toys with it. The blade has grown dull- he’ll need to sharpen it. 

Behind him, he can hear a bard begin to tune her lute. Jaskier is unable to help himself, and looks over his shoulder to watch. Tuning looks complicated. He can’t quite remember how to do it. His fingers itch to try. 

“That reminds me!” Jaskier snaps his gaze back to Julian. He’s digging into a satchel for a moment before pulling out a book. With care, Julian slides it over to Jaskier. “This is, well, it’s sort of part of the apology. But, I heard from an old nanny of yours that you liked music.” 

Jaskier looks from the book to Julian and back to the book. Then he takes the book and flips through the soft pages. It’s about music theory. He reads each word hungrily, can’t get enough. 

“It’s for you.” Julian breaks the spell. “I can’t undo what’s been done. But I’d like to make up for it. If I can.” 

That’s a near impossibility, Jaskier thinks. He doesn’t want to fight monsters for the rest of his life. Wants to enjoy the finer things. Small gifts like this are nice, but it hardly scratches the surface. And yet, he can recognize effort. Even if he really doesn’t want to. Gods. He _really_ doesn't want to like Julian. 

“It’s a _start_.” Jaskier says. When Julian smiles, Jaskier finds he’s unable to stop his own from forming.

-

From there, they start talking. Nothing too in-depth. Jaskier isn’t ready to go there. And while Julian is eager, he’s still being cautious. 

Eventually, Julian has to leave. Noble things to attend to. Jaskier was bored to tears as a child listening to such duties, and he can’t say that it’s any more interesting now. He’s glad that being Witcher shuts him out of politics. 

It does beg the question: if he wasn’t a Witcher, what would he have been? Clearly, he never could have stayed and been the good son their father wanted him to be. It doesn’t matter. Not really. Imagining such things only lead to heartbreak. 

“Jaskier,” Julian says as he stands. “Will I see you again?” 

Jaskier stays seated. He intends to drink a lot more before the night is over. A hand drifts to his (borrowed) medallion. “Hm.” The book, sitting on the table still, catches his eyes. It’s a thick book. Well kept. It doesn’t belong on the Path. “Maybe.” He settles on. And he smiles. 

Less teeth, more sincere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops meant to post this earlier oh well.


	7. Interlude the Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

“What the fuck,” Lambert does not try to hide the glee in his voice, a warning of danger to come. “Is that?” He points to the medallion hanging around Geralt’s neck.

For a moment, Geralt is unclear what Lambert means. They’ve all just arrived at Kaer Morhen for the winter, and tradition dictates that Lambert, Eskel, and he all get spectacularly drunk.

Which means at some point, Geralt stripped down until he’s in a light shirt. Which means he’s exposing his (borrowed) medallion. Which means Lambert can see exactly which school it’s from. And how it’s not the one they all belong to.

Fuck.

“A medallion.” Geralt grunts, shoving it under his shirt. The damage is done, but he doesn’t want these idiots staring at it for longer than need be.

“Oh, but Geralt,” And Lambert is smiling. Never a good thing. “That doesn’t look anything like ours. Almost looks like… Y’know, I can’t think of what it looks like.” He snaps his fingers a few times, even though the prick already knows the fucking word he’s thinking of. “What _does_ it look like, Eskel?”

Geralt looks at Eskel. The sensible one. The nicest of the Wolves. If there’s anyone he can count on to end this bullshit it’s him.

“Looks like a Cat Medallion.” Eskel is smiling as well.

Geralt has always suspected he didn’t have any friends, but now he knows for certain.

“This is the second year in a row he’s had the stench of Cat on ‘em,” Lambert explains to Eskel. “And I just think it’s interesting that now he’s wearin’ one of those this year.”

The medallion feels hot against his chest.

“Does this conversation have a point?”

“I’m just shocked you made a friend! And with a fuckin’ psychopath, no less,” Lambert scratches his chin, faux-thoughtfully. “Though I guess someone would have to be crazy to stick around you long enough.”

Geralt growls. He knows, obviously he knows, that it’ll just egg Lambert on.

“You do tend to align yourself with…passionate people.” Eskel points out.

They’re bringing up Yennefer. And Renfri. Of course.

“Jaskier is usually the ones putting a stop to the madness.” More capable of haggling, of getting people to like him, and sometimes convincing others that Witchers aren’t so bad.

“Jaskier, is it?”

That’s the _wrong fucking take away_ from what he just said.

“It sounds like Geralt has gone and put his dick in crazy. Again.” Lambert shrugs. “But honestly, who here is surprised?” 

Geralt finishes off his vodka and reaches for the bottle.

This is going to be a long fucking winter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the shortest chapter, but i like to think it's pretty funny. i hope you enjoyed it!!   
> comments and kudos make my day <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Spring slowly turns into summer. Geralt has not yet bumped into Jaskier, but he knows he will. He reaches for the Cat medallion he has borrowed and runs his thumb over it’s etchings. 

Strange, how something like this brings him comfort. Stranger still, it makes him miss the Cat Witcher’s presence even more. 

With or without Jaskier, the Path awaits. 

And so Geralt does what he’s made to do and takes contracts.

One in particular stands out.

A family was unfortunate enough to live close to a leshen. Nekkers, wolves, and crows surround the entire area. It’d be easier with two. (Soft. He’s grown soft.) The family explains that they don’t have enough money to pay him what his services are worth, but they already lost a son. They can’t afford to move, to lose these lands. They can’t lose another son. The child, their remaining boy, has floppy brown hair.

He takes the contract.

It’s not an easy fight, but he manages. There is a small matter of his ankle. Fool that he is, the leshen managed to trip him. He’ll be walking with a limp for a few days. No matter. There aren’t any towns close by. For once, the lack of a contract is a good thing.

Even if the current contract has proved less than fruitful. 

The father thanks him profusely when he returns. “Please, I must… there must be something I can give to you.” Geralt refuses the money. Refuses all gifts. Except… His gaze shifts to the corner where he can see something nearly hidden away in the shadows. “That belonged to my eldest,” The farmer replies. A sad sort of fondness in his voice. “But it’s meant to be held. Meant to be played.” 

Geralt is then handed a lute. 

There’s no room on the Path for such a frivolous thing, but he recalls Jaskier’s fingers dancing in the air. That something was missing. And here it is.

Fuck.

He takes the lute, fastens it to Roach’s saddle, and continues onward. 

A single token was enough, he thinks, to remind him of Jaskier. Now that he has two he’s starting to consider how he’s gotten this far. How he’s allowed himself to feel so much in such a short amount of time. 

Two years feels like a blink of an eye. Like an eternity. 

A lute doesn’t have to mean more than it does. There was no money to be had, and Geralt has no use an instrument. Jaskier might. That’s the end of it. 

For now, he is able to believe these words. 

-

If Geralt were to believe in something like luck or destiny, he might think that he’s being screwed by some God.

An entire group of foglets are ganging up on him. 

Geralt should have known better than to stray so close to marshlands. (It was the closet path towards a spot where Jaskier and he had met once before.) Now he can’t fucking see, his ankle hurts, and the monsters pour in from seemingly out of no where.

Any other day, he would have been fine. 

But this day, the ground is uneven, he’s outnumbered, and his potions are with Roach. A small mercy that she ran away. Probably not too far off, but safe from the danger. 

A foglet, an eighth that he had not been privy to, strikes him in the leg. 

He buckles, his knees sinking into the mud. 

They pile on top of him. Slash at his armor, his exposed skin- whatever they could reach. And while the fog thickens, turning the world to a sickly grey-white, his vision begins to blur. 

But a moment away from unconsciousness, the foglets dissipate, concentrating their attack on something else. 

Geralt, unfocused and injured, can’t sense what’s out there. 

It’s just when he’s going under that he sees a flash of brightly colored armor. 

-

Geralt comes to hours later, somehow still tired. 

He’s laying down, a bed roll beneath him. His wounds have been tended to. The heat of a nearby fire warming him. By his side, he can see another empty bed roll. A familiar scent wafts off of the material. 

Jaskier. 

Despite the coincidence, he still does not believe in luck or Destiny. Instead, he knows that the Cat Witcher always seems to find the most dramatic moments to appear. He closes his eyes a moment longer and sighs. 

“Can’t leave you alone for a moment, can I?” Geralt opens his eyes, and there Jaskier is, sitting cross legged a few feet away. He’s sharpening his knife as if he had been sitting there for ages, and not moments. “Death by foglets would be an exceptionally shitty way to go. How the hell did they get the jump on you?” 

Geralt sits up. “They’re invisible.” 

“The fog is usually a pretty good clue,” Jaskier shakes his head and sighs. “Well, don’t cock it up so much next time. I might not be around.” 

He doesn’t believe if for a minute. “Thank you.” 

Jaskier smiles. “Always willing to rescue a damsel in distress.” 

A quick check over himself, and Geralt knows that he’ll recover better now that everything is dressed. Probably should mediate at some point. Until then… he studies Jaskier a little closely. 

The scar on his face has healed nicely. He isn’t as thin as the last time they met after the winter, but they are well into spring now. Would have earned enough to put weight back on if need be. And he looks lighter. Happier, maybe.

Jaskier raises a brow. “What? Have I got something on my face?” Well,” He thumbs at the scar running across his nose. “Something else?” Geralt shakes his head and continues to look at the Cat.

It’s a rumor, a lie, that Witchers can’t blush. The proof of it lies on Jaskier’s cheeks, warmed pink.

“Are you about finished?” Geralt asks, nodding towards Jaskier’s knife. 

“Yeah. Just something to do while you snored. Half the forest is awake now, thanks very much.” Jaskier sheathes the knife and looks at Geralt expectantly. “Why?” 

“Join me.” 

Jaskier’s mouth falls open a little. It’s unusual to see genuine surprise. It’s nice. 

It’s nicer when Jaskier comes and lays down beside him. He’s on his side, and has his head propped up on his hand. Still too far. “Missed me, did you?” 

“Full of questions, are you?” Geralt pulls Jaskier closer, ignoring the twinge of pain he feels in his chest. When Jaskier places a hand over his chest, the pain disappears altogether. “Sleep now.” 

And they do. 

-

In the morning, Geralt is feeling much better. No need to run off anywhere or continue looking for Jaskier when he’s here, in his arms. 

The Cat looks up at him, golden eyes gleaming. “Morning.” 

“Hm.” 

“Sleep well?” 

“I did.” 

“Good. We should leave.” Jaskier stretches, then gets up, out of Geralt’s reach. “I’ve a horse now! No need to trail after you on foot anymore.” 

It should be worrying that all of Geralt’s focus was on Jaskier and didn’t even notice a second horse in the area. And, he notes, that Jaskier has managed to bring Roach to the little makeshift camp. 

He rises. Already planning on meditating when they camp tonight.

“Geralt? What’s this?” Jaskier is looking over Roach. He’s got a big smile on his face, amusement making his eyes shine. The Cat is pointing to the lute case, still lying safely against Roach’s side. “Take an interest in music?” 

Oh. Right. 

“It’s for you.” 

Jaskier’s smile falls. “What?” 

Shit. 

Geralt clears his throat. “A family didn’t have any money. They gave me that instead.” He walks over to Roach and unstraps the lute, handing it to Jaskier. For the second day in a row, there’s genuine surprise. “I can’t play. You can.” 

“I- it’s been _years_.” Jaskier holds the case with reverence. Runs his fingers over the worn material. “I haven’t even held one or tuned one in- and besides, the Path. I shouldn’t-” 

“You should.” All those times watching bards, practicing without an instrument. If Jaskier were never a Witcher, this is what he would do. Geralt is sure of it. He nods. “You should.” 

Carefully, slowly, Jaskier straps the lute to his own white horse. Then, he grabs Geralt by the medallion. For a moment, Geralt things he’s going to take it back. But instead, Jaskier tugs it so that Geralt stumbles forward, into his personal space. 

And Jaskier kisses him. Soft but hungry. 

Geralt kisses back, placing a hand on Jaskier’s neck. Keeps him close. Bites at his lip. Shows him, shows him that the months have been long. Geralt turns them round and backs Jaskier up to a tree. Holds him there, wanting the moment to last longer than possible. 

He wants to keep this. Wants to keep Jaskier. 

How can he do that? 

Eventually, they part. The Cat’s cheeks are tinted pink, and his lips are bitten red. Geralt cannot stop himself from stealing another kiss. Then, he presses his forehead to Jaskier’s.

Jaskier grins. “I think,” His voice breathless. “I have an idea for my first song.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate foglets


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Witchers are supposed to walk the Path alone. It’s not a life for two, let alone for those who come from different schools. And yet, Geralt finds that he doesn’t care. Not when he’s traveling with Jaskier. 

All those shoulds and shouldn’ts start bleeding away. 

A Witcher has no reason to be playing an instrument. It’s a distraction. 

And yet, Geralt finds peace when he listens to Jaskier play the lute. Jaskier’s playing has improved exponentially in the past few weeks. He practices constantly, scribbles down ideas on any bit of spare parchment, and has even played for a small family during a contract. 

Geralt has never seen him happier before.

He thinks he has never been happier himself.

A Witcher has no business being in a relationship. These sorts of relationships can cause one to panic. Being so close to someone can be used against a Witcher. 

And yet, hunting has never gone so smoothly. Monsters are slain or rehabilitated with a sense of ease. Knowing that someone (that _Jaskier_ ) has his back allows him to fight better. 

It’s odd. He keeps waiting for the feeling to slip away. For Jaskier to take his lute, his medallion, and Geralt’s heart and take off. But he doesn’t. Jaskier stays close. Proves him wrong every day. 

Geralt thinks that the Path can be bearable like this. That life is more than just monsters and coin. 

Then the autumn creeps up on them.

Though they can both withstand the cold better than humans, Jaskier has insisted on staying at an inn.

“Are all you Wolves so stingy when it comes to money? What’s the point of having it if you’re not going to spend it?” Jaskier had said. As if Geralt is at all opposed to a warm bed and simple comforts. 

Not when they have the coin, at least. Enough for supplies and food and anything they might need for their horses. On this rare occasion, they actually have enough for Geralt to rent a room for the night without too much of a protest.

And so, here they are, lying on the bed. Jaskier, with his lute in hand, strumming along. Geralt, half meditating. 

Any day now, he knows, Jaskier will leave. 

He opens his eyes and studies the Cat. In the low light, his hair shines a golden brown. His gaze is far away, probably trying to come up with words to the ridiculous new song he’s writing. And there’s the smile, the soft one. Reserved for private moments like this. Geralt thinks he might be the only one to see it. 

“Where do you go?” 

“Hm?” Jaskier turns to look at him, his pupils wide and curious. _Like a cat,_ he thinks. 

“In the winter. The past two years. Where do you go?” 

“Where do I go, he asks. Why the sudden interest?” Jaskier carefully puts his lute away in it’s case, and then carefully places the case on the floor, and then plops down on the bed beside Geralt. 

“Who says it’s sudden?” Slowly, he inches down on the bed so he’s at eye level with Jaskier. Side by side. 

“Well! I think since you’ve never asked before or shown any interest that it comes off as a bit sudden!” He sighs. “No where in particular. Lots of camping. I’ll do… whatever work is available. Not as lucrative as monster hunting, I’ll admit, but it keeps life interesting.” 

Geralt frowns. No wonder Jaskier looked so skinny in spring these last two years. He doesn’t like the idea of seeing him like that again. 

“Oh, wipe that look off your face. I’m very capable of handling myself, thank you.” Jaskier sniffs. “C’mere. If you’re too look so disdainful of my choices, I’d rather you at least attempt to hide it from me.” 

He’s pulled into Jaskier’s embrace, his head on the Cat’s chest. Laying over Jaskier’s heart is the Wolf medallion. Geralt is powerless seeing it so close, can’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing his fingers against the warmed metal. Traces the shape of it. “That’s the choice you plan to make this year?” 

“Sweet Melitele Geralt, are we still talking about this? I don’t know.” Jaskier combs his fingers through Geralt’s hair a little roughly. “Julian… invited me to stay with him and his family in Lettenhove.” 

“You don’t want to go?” 

“The people there still remember the _evil_ Witcher who killed their last viscount.” Jaskier wiggles his fingers about in the air, the waves away the words. “I very much doubt they would want to wait on me hand and foot through the winter.” Jaskier laughs. “Can you imagine the looks on their faces, though?” 

“Hm.” 

The hand in his hair softens a bit. Not as agitated or fidgety. Geralt knows, of course, that Jaskier won’t be going to Lettenhove. Not any time soon. He’s unsure how often Jaskier corresponds with his brother, but they really only just started to mend their relationship. It will take more than a few letters to get Jaskier to return to a home that had once cast him out. 

An old idea comes to mind. Geralt has pushed it away several times over the past two years. It seemed impossible. But now…

A Wolf shouldn’t invite another Witcher to Kaer Morhen. Especially not a Cat.

And yet. 

“Come with me. To Kaer Morhen.” 

Jaskier’s hand stills. “Wh- are you serious?” He nudges Geralt’s head, silently asking him to look up. Geralt does.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.” 

A pause. “I’m not a Wolf, you know.” Jaskier’s eyes shine and his smile is soft. 

“No. But you’re part of the pack.” 

Jaskier flips them over so he’s hovering over Geralt and kisses him fiercely. He supposes that’s answer enough. This winter, he looks forward to half formed songs and warm beds and shared laughter. 

The things a Witcher should and shouldn’t do are replaced by, reworked by, and reinvented by Jaskier.

And it feels _right_. 

fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of this particular witcher!jask drabble series. but i may do more! like a sequel series. kaer morhen shenanigans. jask meeting julian's children. yanno. tenderness.

**Author's Note:**

> this series is also found on my tumblr. i was convinced to publish it here as well. you can follow me @anxiousbard if you'd like to check out some other series i have posted or just to talk about dumb aus i come up with on the fly.


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